by Renee Rose
Kayla strains against my hold. She wants to pull me down—maybe for a kiss, maybe because it’s too intense for us to look at each other now that we’ve exposed ourselves to the bone, but I don’t let her. I make her stare into my eyes until I’m sure she believes me.
Her eyes get bright with tears. “Please kiss me,” she warbles.
I kiss the hell out of her, my mouth devouring hers, my lips an instrument I wield for war. I fuck her mouth with my tongue, and my semi-hard dick slips back home in this position for a few last glorious strokes. I kiss her until she’s breathless, panting and moaning, and then I back off, roll us to our sides and pull her body against mine.
She rests her head on my biceps, her cheek on my chest. “Thank you,” she murmurs.
But still I can’t get over my guilt. The sense I may have done the wrong thing with someone I never want to hurt.
I don’t know how long we lie together in the silence. I don’t want to get up until she’s been held long enough. She needs the aftercare, especially considering I broke her. Finally she stirs and moves away from me.
“I’m hungry now, Master.”
I drop a kiss on the top of her head and roll off the bed to order us some food. Then I pick up my phone and return to the bed with her soft aftercare blanket, which I drape over her. I sit with my back against the wall. “I need that name, blossom.”
She lifts her head and licks her lips, blinking those wide eyes at me. “It’s Blake Ensign.”
“Thank you.” I pull her pillow close to my hip, so she can curl against my leg, and I can stroke her hair.
I text Dima, our bratva cell’s hacker. Kayla got casting couched by this douche: Blake Ensign. I need an address, so I can deal with him. Please and thank you.
Dima texts back immediately. On it.
I text Maxim next because I doubt he would appreciate me texting his wife personally. Tell Sasha I did not appreciate her advice to my girl.
Maxim texts me back a few minutes later. Sasha’s reply: uh oh. He sends a second message, What’s your plan with the mudak?
I reply, I’m going to hurt him. I said before that I don’t get mad, I get even, but tonight, there’s a rage to my violence.
Maxim: Good.
“Room service.” A man calls as he knocks on the door.
“Leave it outside,” I snarl, even though Kayla’s fully covered by the blanket. No other man’s going to even think about Kayla tonight without getting my fist in his teeth.
Kayla
I wake up because Pavel’s no longer in the bed. I climb out in the darkness, reaching for the soft, fuzzy blanket he wraps me in after we play and pulling it around my shoulders. I look for his shoes and wallet—or some other sign that he’s left the room, but they are still here. I see three empty bottles from the mini-bar on the dresser.
I find Pavel leaning on the balcony with another tiny liquor bottle clutched in his hand.
“Master?”
“Malysh. I’m sorry I woke you.” He doesn’t move.
“No, you didn’t. I mean, I missed you in the bed.” I catch sight of his normally impassive face and catch a glimpse of a torture before he scrubs his hand across his neatly trimmed beard. “What’s wrong?”
“Come here.” He opens one arm, and I press myself against him. His addictive scent mingles with the sharper tones of vodka.
“What is it?” I press, knowing he probably won’t share on his own.
“Are you all right, Kayla?” He turns his gaze full on me like I’m the one who’s just drained four bottles of liquor and is standing outside looking bereft.
“Yes. Are you?”
“I don’t want to play that way with you again,” he says quietly.
My heart starts beating like he’s breaking up with me. But he’s not. He can’t be, he’s holding me close against his body.
“What way?”
“Punishing you until you cry. That was wrong. I’m sorry.”
“No.” I press myself even closer to him, like I could meld our two bodies, so we’d never come apart again. “It wasn’t wrong. I needed that. You gave me the release I craved. Why are you upset?”
“Upset.” He repeats the word with a bitter chuckle, like doms aren’t allowed to be upset.
I start connecting the dots. He’s told me so little, but they do connect. He told me he couldn’t play at non-consent. He’s always telling me I’m free to go. Somewhere in his life, he’s seen something ugly.
The balcony tilts and spins. Everyone thinks this is wrong—what we do. Now even Pavel does, too.
Is it wrong? Sick?
But I can’t believe that. Not with how close I feel to this man right now—even though he shares nothing of himself, he just told me I’m his everything.
He’s my everything, too.
“What are you afraid of, Pavel? That you’ll hurt me? That I won’t use my safe word when I should?”
He turns to face me fully, and I’m struck by how much pain is in his eyes. He cradles my face in his hands. “Am I hurting you, Kayla? I mean, I did. I hurt you tonight.”
“Stop,” I interrupt before he goes any further down that path. “I love the way you hurt me. Why are you so worried about it? Did someone say something?” It suddenly occurs to me that my roommates may be taking their case elsewhere. To Sasha, maybe? And it got back to him?
“My father—” Pavel stops and scrubs a hand over his soft beard again.
His father. Oh. I’m instantly sick to my stomach.
“He was abusive?” I guess.
Pavel nods. “Yes. He nearly killed us. And finally, I killed him.” Pavel stares at me, his expression awash with shame. A touch of alarm even. This is Pavel bared—the way he’s never let me, or possibly anyone—see him before.
“Oh Pavel.” I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, standing on tiptoe to reach.
He stands rigid for a moment, then one arm comes around me. “You’re not shocked?”
“Of course, I’m shocked, Pavel. You carry a terrible burden. I’m so sorry.”
He lets out a bitter laugh of disbelief. “You’re sorry? For me?”
“Of course. Pavel—” I pull back enough to look him in the eye. “Did you think I’d judge you?”
He cocks his head. “Why wouldn’t you?” He almost sounds suspicious, like I’m tricking him, somehow.
“Pavel, you were protecting your mother, just like you protected me at that convenience store. You did what you had to do. I love you for it.”
“You love me,” he repeats softly, shaking his head. “Superpower.”
“What?”
“You have the capacity of...I don’t know—acceptance… presence—that no one else has. Do you know that? You’re one in a billion, little flower.”
“I love you.”
Pavel groans like a wounded animal and gathers me up against his body. His breath sounds ragged in my hair.
It’s the third time I’ve said I love him tonight. Each time seems to penetrate him deeper. He hasn’t made it wrong, but he hasn’t said it back. After what I just learned, I can be patient. He probably hasn’t known much love in his life.
I’m going to show him it’s not a superpower. It’s something we can both do, together.
11
Pavel
The next morning, I edge my little slave for hours with my mouth between her legs. She weeps, pounding her fists against my shoulders, begging for release. She's such a good subbie, waiting for my permission. Not that I would punish her if she did come.
Not after I broke her last night.
Even if she isn’t, I’m still too raw from it. I’m starting to think there’s no pain I inflict on her that I don’t feel myself. Strange for a stone-cold sadist.
When I’m about to die of need myself, I put her on her knees and forearms and fuck her until she sobs. This time I don’t feel bad about her tears. This is the only kind of crying I want out of her. The too-much-pleasure variety that leaves her wrung-ou
t with bliss for hours afterward.
I wait until my climax comes on hard, then bark, “come,” as I bury myself balls-deep and die a small death. Kayla’s muscles squeeze around my dick, milking it for all its worth, and then I topple us both to our sides as she sobs out her breath.
When I roll her onto her back and wipe her tears from her face, she gives me a dreamy smile. “You’re beautiful,” I tell her.
She lets out a limp moan.
“I managed to get you into the spa today.”
She blinks, obviously trying to come back to reality. Her hair is spread in a golden halo around her head, her face flushed a pretty shade of pink.
“Your first appointment is at one. I need to take care of some business, but I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
Her lips part. “Oh.”
“Yes, Master,” I prompt to head off the line of questioning I sense is about to start up.
“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”
“I’m going to take a quick shower before I go.” I swear to Christ I’m not the kind of guy who talks just to hear himself talk, but Kayla’s vulnerability, especially after a scene, forces me to communicate far more.
“Me too,” she murmurs and sits up.
I take her hand to help her off the bed and lead her into the bathroom where I wash her from head to toe. My soft, pliant slave-doll, who I will avenge like a fucking nightmare today.
I texted Dima when I woke up this morning asking for Ensign’s address, he replied, Wait until noon. Nikolai, Oleg and I are flying out to lend a hand. I’ll text when we land.
I stared at my phone for a moment, trying to identify the unfamiliar feeling swirling in my chest. Gratitude. I knew my bratva brothers had my back in business, but this thing with Kayla has nothing to do with them. Nothing at all. They’ve never even met her, and yet three of them dropped everything to back me up on this.
Maybe it was just that it came on the heels of Kayla’s unbelievable acceptance of my patricide, but I’ve never felt so… open. My armor got knocked off last night, and it feels like I don’t even need it.
I send Kayla out of the shower, so I can wash myself. When I come out, she’s naked in the room, holding my phone. “Dima says they’re outside?” She turns the screen around to face me.
Well, fuck.
“Should you be reading my texts, slave?”
She’s unfazed by my stern tone. “No, sir. Why are they here? Can I meet them?”
“I told you, we have some business to take care of.”
She folds her fingers underneath her chin and bats her eyelashes. “Please? I’ve been dying to meet your housemates. Who’s here? Both twins?”
I don’t know how the fuck she even knows I live with twins. Oh yeah—Sasha, of course. Really, what I didn’t know was that she had any interest in my housemates at all.
“Yes, the twins. And Oleg.” Gah. I run a hand through my hair. There’s no harm in her meeting them, I guess. I don’t know why it makes me break into a sweat. I liked keeping Kayla to myself, I guess. Keeping our relationship in the dark. In a hotel room. Where the outside world can’t find us or affect us.
But it seems Kayla craves something different.
“You have ninety seconds to get dressed,” I tell her, mostly to watch her scurry around while I pull on a pair of black jeans and a dark t-shirt. Wouldn’t want to get blood stains on lighter clothes.
She’s ready before I am, dragging a brush through her hair quickly as I open the door.
“Just for a minute. To meet them. We’re not hanging out.”
“Okay,” she says brightly.
Something shifts in my chest. This girl.
I take her downstairs and outside where I spot a white passenger van with familiar plumbing magnets on the doors. “Over here.” I take her hand, and we walk across the street.
Nikolai climbs out of the driver’s side when we approach. “Wait...is she coming?”
“No, you dumb fuck,” I tell him as I reach out to shake his hand and thump his shoulder. It’s a rare show of appreciation on my part, and Nikolai recognizes it by thumping me back.
The other two guys pile out of the van.
“Kayla wanted to meet you guys.” I rest my hand on her lower back. “This is Nikolai.”
“Nikolai! Great to meet you.” She throws her arms around his neck.
“Don’t touch him,” I growl.
“Sorry, I’m a hugger.” She releases Nikolai and goes for Dima. “You must be Dima!” Another hug. This is Kayla in normal company. An adorable, friendly girl from Wisconsin who hugs people she’s never met before.
It’s so far from my world I feel like I stepped into a colorful rom-com movie instead of the darkness and shadows that make up my life.
“Seriously,” I mutter, grinding my teeth. “Do you want me to have to kill my own brothers? Don’t touch him.”
Kayla forgets to be my obedient slave. She ignores me completely.
“So this is what Pavel’s like in love,” Dima deadpans as he accepts my handshake and shoulder clasp. “Even meaner than he was alone.”
“Yeah, love doesn’t look good on you, bro,” Nikolai agrees.
Kayla even gets a hug out of Oleg, our giant, silent enforcer.
Un-fucking-believable.
“That’s Oleg,” I explain as the big guy bends down and gives her a half-hug with one giant meaty arm. “He doesn’t talk.” A month ago he probably wouldn’t have moved, but he has his girlfriend Story now, and she has changed him completely. Where his silence was like a weapon before, now he attempts to communicate more. We’re learning sign language, and he’s joining conversations. He gives her the sign language salute now, which means hello.
“I guessed as much. I used to live with Sasha,” she explains, even though they knew that. “And Pavel’s not mean.” She returns safely to my side, and I unclench my fists.
“Agree to disagree,” Nikolai quips.
“All right,” I say, tugging her backwards. “Let’s get you back to the hotel.”
“Can you guys stay for dinner?” Kayla asks brightly.
“No,” I snap. “They can’t. They’re heading back to Chicago. Say goodbye.”
Kayla lifts a hand and waves. “Bye guys. Nice to meet you.”
I walk Kayla back across the street and through the front doors of the Four Seasons. “Be good. Enjoy the spa.”
A furrow creases between her brows. “Are you guys going to—”
I stop her with a finger on her lips. “Go upstairs, malysh. I’ll see you when I get back.”
She hesitates a moment, like she’s going to argue, so I raise my brows. “Yes, sir.” She lifts her face for a kiss. I brush my lips over hers. The darkness of what I’m about to do already shrouds me, makes me want to keep my distance from her. To not sully her brightness with what I am.
I should let her go, I tell myself for the hundredth time.
Never, a new voice answers. A dark voice. The one that wants to consume all that Kayla is. Claim her and keep her forever. Suck everything out of her until she’s dry.
Never.
What can I say? It feels right to be so wrong.
12
Pavel
“All security cameras have been put on loop and the locks are open,” Dima says, his fingers clicking over the keys on his laptop in the back of the van.
Nikolai puts the van in drive and coasts forward the remaining half block until we reach the iron gates that close the entrance to Blake Ensign’s home.
“The gate is...now open.” Dima reports just before the gates swing wide to let us in. “I brought masks. They’re in that bag.” Dima doesn’t look away from his screen; his fingers still move across the keyboard, clicking away. I have yet to see anything the guy can’t hack with enough time.
I open the bag and stare at the ski masks. Part of me doesn’t want to wear one. I want this fucker to see my face when we’re talking. But I can always take it off. I pull mine out and tos
s out the rest to the guys.
“He lives alone?” I ask Dima.
“Yep. How else would he get blowies from all the women he casts?”
My lip curls, and Dima shoots me a look over the top of his laptop before he snaps the lid closed. “He definitely picked the wrong actress this time.”
He did. “I promised Kayla I wouldn’t kill him,” I warn my brothers. “So don’t let me take it too far.”
“We’ve got your back,” Nikolai promises, turning from the front seat and pulling on his knit mask.
Dima taps the lid of his computer. “I have ways to hurt him that don’t even require bloodshed.” He pulls on his as well.
Oleg already wears his, his size and silence making him the most terrifying in appearance of the four of us.
“Brat'ya,” I address my brothers in Russian, “Spasibo.” Thank you.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the fucking world,” Nikolai says easily, sliding out of the van. “Let’s do this thing.”
I palm the revolver I found in the bag with the caps. Nikolai also pulls one out. Oleg prefers to rely on his hands, which are capable of snapping a man’s neck with a single twitch. Dima brings the laptop along. I can’t fucking wait to hear what damage he holds in there.
I do the polite thing and ring the bell. I hope to fuck he doesn’t have servants in the house at the moment—scaring the innocent isn’t my thing.
A mid-fifties asshole with salt and pepper hair pulls the door open, then tries to slam it shut when he catches sight of us. Oleg catches the door and shoves it in.
I point my gun in the center of Ensign’s forehead. “Hey asshole. I have a few things to say to you.”
“What the fuck is this?” He’s not scared yet, he’s pissed. The man wears entitlement like it’s a second skin.
Oleg grips his throat and lifts, using his superior height to lift the bastard off his heels.
